


Super Tongue-Lashing

by quiet__tiger



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet__tiger/pseuds/quiet__tiger
Summary: Bruce wakes up to words of admonishment from Clark.





	Super Tongue-Lashing

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Never Again."
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal Jul. 26th, 2010.

Bruce awoke slowly, the rhythmic beeping sound from a heart monitor giving him something on which to focus. The very fact that he was groggy and listening to a monitor did not bode well for his current state of being.

“You fool.”

Clark? Why was Clark there? Bruce tried to open his eyes, but the lids seemed too heavy.

“You’re really doped up, so you shouldn’t even be awake, let alone looking at me. But your metabolism is so screwed up from all the work you make it do we couldn’t get you to rest.” Before Bruce could test his jaw and throat, Clark continued, “And don’t even try to speak. You just sit there and you listen.”

Bruce tried to raise an eyebrow, but he couldn’t tell if he was successful. Clark didn’t have a comment on it, either.

“You cannot _do_ this, Bruce. You are not a machine. You are not invincible. You are not omnipotent. You are a _man_. Sometimes you have the self-awareness of a particularly dense slug, but you are indeed human. And that is _all_.”

The wheels of the chair Clark must be sitting on rolled against the floor, and Bruce could feel that Clark was closer, leaning over him.

“I know you’re wondering why you’re on meds, barely able to move, hooked up to vital sign monitors. I’ll tell you.”

Bruce felt Clark lean further over him, closer to his ear.

“But not quite yet. First you need to know that your team can handle your city. That’s the entire purpose of having a team, Bruce, so that you don’t have to protect it all by yourself. You’ve been lying on this bed dead to the world for four days.”

What the hell _happened_ to him?

“From now on I will be monitoring you more closely. I thought I could trust you, but I obviously cannot. You take care of others, of _strangers_ , so well, but yourself… Frankly, you suck at it. Yes, Clark Kent says ‘sucks’ sometimes. You tend to make me do and say things I’d never put on anyone else.”

The words could be taken in so many ways, but Bruce knew that right now Clark was very angry with him.

“You ran yourself to _exhaustion_ , Bruce. Like you used to do when you were new, just starting out, alone on the streets without your gear or your experience. I had to locate you in an alley three blocks from the Batmobile by listening for your heartbeat. Your weak, weary heartbeat. You’re too _old_ to run yourself ragged. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you _are_. Not sleeping, not eating… You can’t _do_ it anymore.”

Bruce heard the chair roll back and a shift of weight indicating Clark had stood.

“You got a concussion. Cheap shot in the head by a second rate thug. The Joker hadn’t realized how out-of-sorts you were, and he escaped with his crew. Consider the very different conversation you’d be having right now if he’d known what really happened. He’d have you strapped to something, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when he wasn’t cackling that madman’s howl the way he does.”

Footsteps softly approached the bed, and Clark’s thumb rested against Bruce’s forehead.

“There was a risk of losing you. Of you not waking up. But you needed the rest to repair the muscles that haven’t been healing, and to get you rehydrated. So we made sure you slept.”

Bruce could have sworn there was a super-speed ruffling of his hair, but he was probably still concussed.

“I can’t do it again, Bruce. I cannot stand vigil over your sickbed when it’s your own fault. If you don’t want to think about yourself, think about those of us who love you, who depend on you to take care of yourself to be there for us.”

There was silence finally, and Bruce tried to say something, anything, maybe an apology, maybe an excuse. But Clark cut him off again.

“No words. Go to sleep. I’ll talk to you when you’re fully conscious.”

A small current of air blew over Bruce’s ear, no doubt from Clark using his super-speed.

Clark whispered, “I’m glad you’re getting better. But if I see you up and about before Alfred and Leslie give you the final okay, I will put you in traction myself. _Capiche_?”

Bruce knew he wasn’t actually expected to answer, and just what exactly could he say to that? All he could do was succumb once again to sleep, secure in his knowledge that he had amazing friends and family, and he really needed to stop torturing them the way he did. But it was a hard habit to break, especially because it wasn’t intentional. It was just part of who he was.


End file.
